Page 34 of The Housemaid
“Listen.” I take a step toward him. “I just thought maybe you want to take…a little break?”
His dark eyes study my face. He does have pretty eyes. “I…no understand.”
I can do this—language of love, all that. “A break.” I reach out, place my hand on his chest, and raise an eyebrow suggestively. “You know.”
I had expected at this point, he would grin at me, scoop me off my feet, and carry me up to the attic, where he would ravish me for hours. What I did not expect is the way his eyes darken. He leaps away from me like my hand is on fire and lets loose with a string of rapid, angry Italian. I have no idea what he’s saying, aside from the fact that he’s not saying “hello” or “thank you.”
“I…I’m so sorry,” I say helplessly.
“Sei pazzo!” he yells at me. He rakes a hand through his black hair. “Che cavolo!”
This is so freaking embarrassing. I want to crawl under the table. I mean, I thought there was a chance he might reject me, but not quite so vehemently. “I…I didn’t mean to…”
He looks up to the stairwell almost fearfully and then back at my face. “I…I go. Now.”
“Right.” I nod at him. “Of course. I…I’m so sorry. I was just being friendly. I didn’t mean to…”
He gives me a look like he knows what I just said was bullshit. I guess some stuffisuniversal.
“I’m sorry,” I say for the third time as he strides toward the door. “And…thank you for the package.Grazie.”
He pauses at the door, turning so his dark eyes meet mine. “You…you get out, Millie,” he says in his broken English. “It’s…” He presses his lips together, then manages to get out the word he said to me the first day we met, this time in English: “Dangerous.”
He looks back up at the stairwell again, a troubled expression on his face. Then he shakes his head, and before I can stop him to try to figure out what he means, he’s hurried out the front door.
TWENTY
God, that was humiliating.
I’m still reeling from the mortification of Enzo rejecting me while I’m waiting for Cecelia to finish her tap-dancing class. My head is throbbing, and the tapping of little feet in unison coming from the dance classroom isn’t helping matters at all. I look around the room, wondering if anyone else finds it as annoying as I do. No? Just me?
The woman in the seat next to mine finally gives me a sympathetic look. Based on her naturally smooth skin, with no signs of a facelift or Botox, I’d estimate her to be about my age, which makes me think she’s not picking up her own kid, either. She’s one of theservants, like me.
“Advil?” she asks. She must have a sixth sense to notice my discomfort. Either that or my sighs are giving her the message.
I hesitate, then nod. A painkiller won’t get rid of the humiliation of the hot Italian landscaper turning me down, but it will ease my headache at least.
She reaches into her big black purse and takes out a bottle of Advil. She raises her eyebrows at me, then I put out my hand and she shakes two little red pills into my palm. I throw them back into my mouth and swallow them dry. I wonder how long it’ll take them to kick in.
“I’m Amanda, by the way,” she tells me. “I’m your official tap-dancing waiting-room drug dealer.”
I laugh, despite myself. “Who are you here to pick up?”
She flicks her brown ponytail off her shoulder. “The Bernstein twins. You should see them tap dance in unison. It’s something to behold—speaking of pounding headaches. How about you?”
“Cecelia Winchester.”
Amanda lets out a low whistle. “You work for the Winchesters? Good luck with that.”
I squeeze my knees. “What do you mean?”
She lifts a shoulder. “Nina Winchester. You know. She’s…” She makes the universal “cuckoo” sign with her index finger. “Right?”
“How do you know?”
“Oh,everyoneknows.” She shoots me a look. “Also, I get the feeling Nina is the jealous type. And her husband isreallyhot—don’t you think?”
I avert my eyes. “He’s okay, I guess.”
